


Stand Where the Peaks Meet the Sky

by coffeeguru



Series: Do I Dare Disturb The Universe? [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Blood Mage no Seisen | Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Moments In Betwen, Non-Plot Moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeguru/pseuds/coffeeguru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moments in and around Skyhold that don't necessarily fit into a specific point in the timeline of Where Legend Remains.  There may be spoilers for various points in the story, and outside of the context of my story they may not stand, but I wanted them to have a place somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand Where the Peaks Meet the Sky

_ You’ve been asleep long enough, asha’lan.  _

As she woke up, she wasn’t sure if she was dead, but if death felt like this did, she was incredibly displeased.  Every muscle ached, each bruise was felt with shocking singularity as it came to painful awareness.  

It was cold. She was cold, something which was incredibly rare in her experience.  Her regular work with winter magic typically left her impervious to low temperatures.  But she shivered, and opened her eyes.

It was as though she had become trapped inside one of her balls of ice. A low-ceilinged dome curved above her, and everything seemed to have a bluish sheen to it. 

At least until she moved her left arm, and then an unnatural turquoise took its place. She grimaced, both at the color and at the sudden movement. Her shoulder was enflamed from being manhandled, and while she was fairly certain she wouldn’t scream if she moved it again, she didn't want to take the chance. She thought she was alone, but that...monster with a man's disfigured face could have been anywhere, hiding in another crevice, waiting for her to appear so it...he...could finish her off.

Corypheus. That horrible visage, that stared at her with detached rage as he discovered the Mark on her hand couldn’t be removed, wouldn't be the key he needed. And all the time, the red crystals that jutted from his skin glowed and pulsed and emit a low murmur, independent of his words. It was hypnotic, and she had almost lost herself in their rhythm. But the pain in her shoulder broke her from her reverie, and as he tossed her aside like so much refuse, the answer became clear. If she was going to die, she would do as the Commander said. She would choose how she went.

And she chose.  And the world went white, and then black...and then she was inside of a snow globe. Slowly she sat up, her weight on her right arm, her movements slow and with accompanying hisses of pain. She had been trapped inside fireballs that burned with less intensity than the abrasions on her body. She trembled again, and would have welcomed a fire spell surrounding her, its flames licking her with their warmth, an inferno cocoon that would protect her from the cold that seemed to seep into her bones.  She had never been so cold before. She thought she might never be warm again.

It felt like ages before she could gather enough strength to stand.  Every inch was a hard-won victory, and she was panting by the time she made it to her knees.   _ Stand up, da’len _ . _ This is not the time to give in to the pain.  _ The echo of her father’s voice spurred her on, and with infinitesimal slowness, she rose to her feet, and started a shuffling sort of walk that reduced the jarring to her body, and kept her steps muffled.  It was still painful, bad enough that she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning aloud, but she kept moving forward. She had to.  She would not give up.  If she was still alive, that monster could be, too, and her work wasn’t finished.

Slowly...so slowly.  Time passed, speeding by as she barely made a dent in the distance, moving to just remind herself she was alive, forcing the blood to pump through her limbs and keep herself going.   And then a new pain ripped through her left arm, joining with the searing burn in her shoulder.  The Mark flared and sparked, as ahead of her, demons lurked, waiting for...something.  Maybe they had been trapped in the avalanche, or maybe there was another tear in the  Veil.  Regardless, the green light reacted, pouring forth from her palm and forming...a rift, of sorts, over the creatures, pulling them back into the Fade like a bowstring snapping back.  Then it simply popped out of existence, and her hand went quiet again.  

She stared down at the miniature fissure. “What  _ are _ you?” she whispered, and even that small noise echoed like a snapping twig in the cavern. But the screams of the demons as they were ripped back to their own world would have attracted anything else lingering nearby, and she appeared to still be alone, so she continued on, cradling her throbbing arm against her body, hunching over with pain, feeling decades older than her twenty seven years.  If she hadn’t succeeded after that last battle, how would she survive the next? How much more could she take before her body succumbed to the physical exertion that it was taking, before her mind snapped at the horrors that were being thrown her way?  

It had taken everything inside of her to not to scream in mindless terror when Corypheus appeared, and then as the dragon winged its way towards her, sprinkling red lyrium like flakes of skin as it came.  She thought for a minute that she had actually broken, because everything seemed to slow down, and it was almost as though she was watching the tableau from someplace outside of her body.  But then it all became clear again, and Rowan was challenging the monster, finding reserves of courage that she was sure didn’t belong to her.  She wasn’t brave, she was just a mage, an elf, a woman who wanted to know why her hand had been imprinted and her life irrevocably changed.

And she faced more unknown as she stumbled her way forward, seeing a minor change in the way the shadows fell before her, feeling the wind pouring forth from an opening that told her there was an end to the tunnel she thought might be her frozen tomb.  

But stepping outside wasn’t a relief. 

Wind tore through her clothes, leaving her as chilled as if she had been wearing nothing and had decided to take a walk through thigh-high snow.  The snow blew into her face, stinging her skin, blinding her to the world.  She just moved forward on instinct, knowing that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t go back.  It was the same situation as before, maybe less immediate, but no less fatal.  She might die, but she could choose how she would go, and it wouldn’t be falling face first in the snow and letting the cold pull her into its deadly sleep.

_ You are stronger than you know.  I love you, my Rowan. _ Tears pricked her eyes and froze to her cheeks as they fell.  ‘Babae.  I let you down.  Again.  I failed, and I failed and I failed.’ The word ‘failed’ echoed in her mind, a rhythm that kept up as she pushed through the drifts.  In the distance, there was a campfire, but when she finally staggered to it, it was cold. Another failure, another sign that she was too late, too slow, too weak.

_You are precious to me, my Da’lin, and I will always be with you._ The loving words mocked her as she saw her death in the snow that she thought she had learned to tame with her magic.  What a fool she was.  “M-maker and Creators,” she invoked between chattering teeth.  “I g-give everything to you.”  Each word burned as she had to suck in more of the frozen air to get a breath.  “Andraste, I am your Herald, whether you ch-chose me or not.” She stopped, just for a moment, looked up where she believed the sky was, where it should be, but the swirling white was so disoriented she simply could no longer be sure.  “L-let me save my people. _Please_.” The last word was halfway between a wail and a cry, torn from her throat as she fell to her knees, exhausted, no strength left in her limbs, life freezing out of her.

The wind blew the snow clear, and went silent.  Her eyes were frozen shut with tears that had sealed her lids.  Her mouth still worked, silently repeating “please,” even after the cold had ripped away her voice.  Head bowed over her knees, she waited for the end, still praying, still hoping even through the overwhelming feeling of despair, just a small curling tendril of possibility that she would live to see another dawn, that she would not let them all down again, not abandon them to the whims of fate and a monster that wished to shred the world and reform it into his own hideous and hateful image.

“Up ahead on that rise! There she is!”  

“Thank the Maker!”

Familiar tones, sounds of people she knew made their way to her ears, the only part of her that seemed to still be functioning.  She couldn’t respond, could do nothing to signal that she was still alive.   She wasn’t even truly sure she still was. Twice in one day she wondered if death had claimed her without her realization. But sooner than she would have imagined, something warm draped over her, smelling of leather and soap and...something earthy and sweet.

“Rowan...Herald...I cannot...Seeker?” That voice. Young and old at once, a man with too much pain in his eyes, in his soul, golden fire dampened by deep hurt.  But he had said maybe she would find a way. He had reminded her that she had a choice.  And she chose once more.  She chose to continue to hope.

“Of course.”  That was the woman coated in steel, covering a heart that felt deeply, believed fully, and would not be deterred from its path.

She wasn’t dreaming; the sudden jerk on her body as she was hoisted into the air caused her to grunt in pain.  It brought back into startling clarity the fact that she had survived, that she was alive.

She hadn’t realized she had formed a word until his spoke. “Yes, Lethal’lan, you’re alive. Though soon you are going to wish you were not, I’m afraid.”  The one who had saved her before, guided her hand to close the rifts, then the Breach. Hah’ren. Ancient sadness and timeless wisdom.  “The numbness is a blessing at the moment.  I am sorry for the pain that is to come.”  Sorrow, deep and aching and eternal in his voice. She thought she felt a hand on her brow, but then it was gone.  “Sleep now.”  And darkness claimed her once more.

 

“The night is long, 

and the path is dark

Look to the sky

For one day soon

The dawn will come.”

 

She opened her eyes slowly, and expected to be back in the camp somewhere in the Frostbacks.  But instead she was in the library deep in Skyhold, a book dangling from her fingers as she came to.  The last notes of the song still rang against the stone, and she looked around to find Dorian standing and staring at one of the shelves.  “It’s a catchy little tune, if oversimplified,” he said without looking at her.  “You inspired a lot a lot of people that night.”

“All I did was not die, and that almost wasn’t the case.”

“Sometimes survival is all it takes, Dove.”  He finally turned to look at her.  “Keep surviving, and I think we might just see the other side of this.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said with a weak smile.  “It might take the entire Inquisition to keep me upright, though.”

He made a slight scoffing noise.  “What do you think we’re all here for?  I mean, aside from adding a touch of class to the whole affair on my part, of course.”  His tone was light, but his eyes were dark and serious.  “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll make it through.  And I have quite a bit to say about it.  I’ve grown terribly fond of you, and I can’t have friends simply dying on me.  It won’t do.”  He approached her, and put out a hand, which she took, and he pulled her upright.  “Go and rest, somewhere with a mattress and pillows, preferably.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “I’m sure the Commander wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take advantage of his bed.”

Her face burned.  “I will take your advice...and go to my  _ own _ chambers. You’re incorrigible, Altus Pavus.”

“It’s one of my finer traits, Lady Inquisitor.  Now, off to sleep with you.  There are battles ahead, and you need your beauty sleep. One must look their best when facing certain death.”  He squeezed her hand and let it drop.

“Thank you, Dorian.”  Impulsively, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.  “I love you, my friend.”

He colored slightly.  “Don’t start that...if someone hears the Inquisitor declaring her devotion for a member of the Imperium, scandals will abound, and then where will we be?”  He tried to sound stern, but failed.  He watched after her as she left, wondering just how he found himself as enamoured by the little elf as everyone else.  Dorian had always prided himself on being able to put on an air of disdain when it came to people, society...most things, really.  He cared...cared too much, but it was easier to pretend that he didn’t, that his life was shallow vanity.  Or at least it had been until Rowan had come into his life.  He found himself sharing his true passions with her, ones he had only fully given voice to with Alexius and Felix...and look where that had gotten him. One was a prisoner, one dead, and he was alone. Or he had been.  He wasn’t anymore, and he should try and remember that, remember that he could  _ be _ the person he was with her, with all of them if he truly made the effort.  With an exaggerated sigh, part of the performance he put on for everyone, he went back to perusing the shelves, though his mind was preoccupied with figuring out just how the little winter witch had wound her way around his heart.


End file.
